


Just One Name

by JantoJones



Series: Modest Briefings (The 2nd 100) [64]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 08:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22393072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones
Summary: Napoleon is being interrogated.
Series: Modest Briefings (The 2nd 100) [64]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/763410
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	Just One Name

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt sentence-
> 
> The meal in front of Napoleon Solo would need to be doubled in size in order to be described as meagre. To him it looked like a feast.

The meal in front of Napoleon Solo would need to be doubled in size in order to be described as meagre. To him it looked like a feast. This, of course, was entirely the point. His captors had withheld the food for four days; only allowing him enough water to keep him alive. However, being securely strapped to a chair meant that Napoleon couldn’t reach the thin broth, and the hunk of bread. There was barely enough broth for four mouthfuls, and the bread was no bigger than a child’s fist, but the smell from them was driving Napoleon crazy. His captor couldn’t fail to hear the loud rumbling from his belly.

“Just one name, Solo,” stated Katarina Sanchez sweetly. “One little name and we’ll let you eat.”

Napoleon licked his lips. His stomach was waging war against his resolve, and he wasn’t sure which would win. For four days he had kept telling himself he would not break. Napoleon wasn’t a stranger to torture and had had been conditioned by U.N.C.L.E. to withstand quite a lot. He hadn’t reckoned on the power of hunger.

“A single name, Solo. Two little words.”

Napoleon briefly wondered how his partner would deal with this situation, and decided it would probably be much better than he was. The Russian was accustomed to starvation. Even though he had a greater access to food these days, there had still been times when he had gone days without it. A smile flitted across Napoleon’s exhausted features. His partner could easily go without food when necessary, but if he was half an hour late getting to lunch he would complain for the rest of the day.

Miss Sanchez nodded to the other person in the room. Napoleon didn’t know his name, but he did know he was huge and strong. The brute picked up the bowl of broth and moved it around under Solo’s nose. As the scent of the broth hit his nostrils, Napoleon couldn’t stop himself from drooling. He closed his eyes in an effort to block out the broth, but this just made the scent seem more accentuated. 

“Tell us which U.N.C.L.E. agent will be transporting the updated list of agent’s details to Europe,” Miss Sanchez instructed, keeping her sweet tone. “Give us that name and this broth will be yours.”

Napoleon’s stomach rumbled again. He could almost believe that it was grumbling at been in such close proximity to what it needed. Napoleon would have given almost anything for just one mouthful but, thinking about what the list represented, he knew that he would rather die before giving it up. 

Only he, Mr Waverly and, of course, the courier agent knew who was carrying the list, and Napoleon refused to put the man in jeopardy. Nor was he prepared to risk the lives of those listed. The information contained would allow to Thrush to shut down many of U.N.C.L.E.’s worldwide operations.

Rapidly running out of patience, Miss Sanchez barked at the goon to bring the chateaubriand with béarnaise sauce and potatoes. Napoleon almost groaned. It wasn’t easy to turn down such a meal when he wasn’t starving.

“Did you hear that, Solo?” she asked him when the brute was gone. “I know it is a favourite of yours. Give me that name and we’ll free you to eat it.”

Napoleon didn’t say anything. He was about to shake his head when the door opened. Miss Sanchez didn’t turn around to look.

“Illya Kuryakin,” Napoleon whispered.

“Nice try, Solo,” Miss Sanchez replied. “But he would be too obvious.”

“For that job maybe.”

Before the woman could question his statement, she dropped inelegantly to the floor; a dart protruding from her shoulder.”

“I am sorry to be late,” Illya said, holding his gun in one hand and the chateaubriand in the other. “We had difficulty locating you. I purloined this from a giant who is now sleeping. You look like you need it.” 

Napoleon grinned at Illya’s words. While he was desperate to get out of the place, and back to civilisation, he needed to eat first.

“I would offer you some, Tovarisch, but my need is greater.”

“Do not worry, my friend, I will allow you to make up for it at a later date.”


End file.
